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After washing off the sweat and dirt and rewrapping my towel, I head back to my locker to get dressed. Maddox, Conrad, Levi, and Mateo are all hanging around talking. Maddox is the only one fully dressed and running the towel through his long, dark blond hair, then securing it back in his usual bun. I slip my boxers under the towel and once they are secured, I toss it into the rolling hamper in the corner.
“We heading to Whiskey Joe’s tonight?” Maddox asks.
It’s Friday night and since Coach has a conference this weekend, we get two free days of no practices. During the season, we are all pretty good about not overdoing it with parties or drinking. If we go out tonight, though, we should all be fully recovered by Monday’s practice. Next week’s practices are sure to be strenuous with our game being that Saturday.
I tug my jeans on and grab a shirt out of my gym back. “Whiskey Joe’s sounds good to me,” I say. Hanging with the guys and having a drink or two sounds like a better night than going home and thinking of reasons not to drive to Blaire’s apartment.
When I blurted out that she should go on a date with me, I wasn’t thinking clearly. It was on impulse. Not that I wouldn’t jump at the chance to take Blaire out, but I get the feeling she hasn’t dated much, if at all. She’s timid and shy, two things I don’t particularly look for in a woman. I have always been more interested in the experienced and confident type. But there is something about Blaire that draws me to her.
Conrad slings his gym bag over his shoulder after tossing his towel in the hamper. “I think Emree is working tonight, so you know I’m down,” he states.
Emree. As in Blaire’s roommate. “Your girl works at Whiskey Joe’s?” I ask, trying not to sound too interested. Gaining any information about Blaire’s life is all I’m after.
He doesn’t seem to question why I’m asking about the girl he’s been hooking up with the last week. “First off, not my girl. Second, yeah, she’s been working there for a while.”
Conrad has never been the dating type. Hell, neither have I, but at least I don’t string girls along like he does each semester. Usually, he will find a girl at the beginning of the semester and keep her as a casual hookup, although every time they think they can get him to settle down and finally be in a relationship. I don’t see this one being any different than those of the past.
“All right, y’all want to leave around what, eight? I can schedule an Uber to pick us up,” says Levi. He has always been like the dad of our group, making sure we are being responsible.
“Fuck yea, I’m ready to get plastered tonight, boys,” Maddox shouts.
I wince, hoping none of the coaches heard him. “You want to say that a little louder so the coaches come in here and kick our asses?” I whisper to him.
He shrugs his shoulders. “What’re they going to do? We’re college students. We are expected to drink, party, and have sex. It’s a rite of passage.”
There is no stopping Maddox when he’s in this mood. Guy came to college and decided to live this worry and carefree life. Part of me thinks it’s because of his life before college living with a strict, yet distant, family.
“You know Coach Walters has a zero-tolerance policy for drinking during the season,” Mateo says. Out of the five of us, Mateo is the one who takes soccer the most serious. Don’t get me wrong, I keep my head on straight, but Mateo’s entire life has been soccer since he first touched a ball.
Maddox rolls his eyes. “Whatever. We have two days off. I’m getting hammered tonight.” He grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Meet y’all back at the house. Going to see if Chloe is available to blow off some steam.” He walks out of the locker room.
Levi schedules the Uber to pick us up at eight tonight and after we’re all dressed, we grab our bags and head out to the parking lot.
* * *
Whiskey Joe’sis a popular hangout near campus. It has been owned by the same guy—ironically his name is Brad and not even Joe—for the last thirty years. He is older now, well into his sixties, and isn’t around the bar as much. His son, Garrett, manages it now and does a fine job of hiring mostly college kids, especially hot girls, and avoiding the cops with the number of times he lets it slide that many of us are under the drinking age. His lax rules on serving people under twenty-one is probably why it is such a popular place for Braxton U students.
The Uber picks us up just after eight and the five of us squeeze our bodies into the tight Honda CR-V. Maddox ends up sitting in the trunk since Levi didn’t think to order a vehicle that can fit more than four passengers.
Levi’s elbow is jammed into my ribs, and I glare at him. “You realize there is a fucking option to list how many passengers you have, right?” I grind out through my teeth.
He shrugs his shoulders, relieving the pressure of his elbow in my abdomen. “Didn’t really consider the driver when I said a five-person vehicle,” he says innocently.
The driver jerks to a stop once we are outside of Whiskey Joe’s. I look back at Levi. “Remember that before we leave or I’m making you walk home,” I say before exiting the SUV.
Eight is still early for there to be a lot of people at the bar, but there is a good-sized crowd filtering outside. It is August and Florida’s humidity has been brutal this summer, so there are several fans out on the patio.
After the rest of the guys exit the car, Maddox having to wait for someone to open the trunk, we head toward the front door. Once inside, the music is loud and there are bodies everywhere.
Whiskey Joe’s vibe is a mixture of a sports bar and, on the weekends, a tame club. On the right, the bar runs along the length of the wall and is filled with stools and a variety of liquors displayed on shelves in the back. That area is more lit than the rest of the place with hanging light fixtures above. The open space in the middle and the right side of the building is littered with tables that don’t have matching chairs and red leather booths. Most are occupied by groups of people leaning together in conversation. Straight ahead, past the tables, is a large open area with a stage that has a DJ on weekends. The open space is filled with bodies grinding against each other under the multicolored lights.
Outside the doors by the booths, there is an area that has fake grass on the floor and a few different sets of patio furniture. Games like cornhole, table tennis, and giant Jenga are set up for people to play.
We’re able to snag a table far enough away from the loud music on the dance floor. Conrad is looking all over, I’m assuming trying to find Emree. There are a few staff people walking around with trays of drinks or food, but I don’t spot Emree’s long, blond hair anywhere.
“She a bartender here or something?” I ask.
He doesn’t look my way, still trying to find her. “Waitress, I think.” Something catches his attention. “Oh, there’s her roommate. I’ll go ask her where Emree is.”
